


Fifty Shades of Scarlet

by M_Marlowe



Series: Fifty Shades of What am I Doing To Myself [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Marlowe/pseuds/M_Marlowe
Summary: A single interview throws Anastasia Steele into the middle of a web of threats and lies with her hands tied.An attempts at retelling E.L.James'sFifty Shades of Greywith a darker twist.Not brought to you by Netflix.Thanks for nothing, you cunts. I had to scour the Internet for the first movie that you so kindly region-locked.Dedicated to the only handful of people who willingly put up with me and to the approx. 2 of you that will read this. You know who you are. I also blame you for this monstrosity.I apologise to whomever stumbled upon this by accident.
Series: Fifty Shades of What am I Doing To Myself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745134





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Big Disclaimer:** I haven't read any of the Grey POV books because I want to preserve every last bit of sanity that remains. Obviously this will fight the canon on many fronts but I can't be bothered.
> 
> I suggest selecting "Entire Work" for the best experience. The story is split into chapters based on individual plot points, which usually results in extreme variation in chapter length.
> 
> Sex? No. Alluded to at best.  
> Murder? Of course.  
> Graphic descriptions of said murder? Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic descriptions of a dead body.

Mummy has stopped breathing four days ago.

She is still lying on the old stained sofa, one arm hanging from the edge. Her hand is swollen unnaturally, fingers dark shades of reddish purple, skin peeling away. He doesn't like the sight of it, but he prefers it over her face. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of it - of her sunken half-closed eyes, the dark rings under them a sharp contrast to her white skin. They are no longer brown, but covered with a milky blue film, yet he feels like she is watching his every move. 

The bloody foam that started spilling out of her mouth hours ago has already dried completely. The brown and red sludge that leaks from under her leathery skin has completely ruined both the sofa and the once white sleeping gown that now clings to her bloated body. Some even got to the floor.

He looks away from it, from the coffee table with a needle and a tiny pile of white powder on it, and crawls back into the kitchen. It is the furthest place from Mummy in the small ugly flat they've been renting, but the stench has already seeped into everything. It's heavy and sickly sweet, suffocating. Were he not so hungry he would have vomited. He has before. Now he just felt sick constantly without relief, dry heaving when he got too close.

He pulls his knees to his chest, resting his back against the empty fridge. 

He's so tired.

* * *

Three heavy pounds at the door tear him from the claws of sleep. He feels his heart skip a beat, and he quickly scuttles under the kitchen table. He almost stops breathing. _"Don't let anyone see you, okay?"_ she used to tell him. _"Hide and be quiet. Never answer the door."_ He didn't listen to her once. The scabbed cigarette burns on his back throb and sting as a reminder.

For a few seconds everything is silent.

Another round of pounding starts up, and a man's voice shouts _"Police, open up!"_ He doesn't reply. Mummy doesn't look like she will anytime soon. A different voice speaks up behind the door, too muffled for him to make the words out.

Another moment of silence.

_Crack._

A man in a uniform kicks the door in, letting in a draft of fresh air into the gloomy flat. He immediately turns around, coughing and retching. "Bloody Hell," someone exclaims, and two other men enter. 

"Fucking Christ, the _stench_." 

"Ugh. Should I open the windows?"

"Yeah, this is unbearable."

He hears the man's shoes click against the floor, coming closer towards his hiding spot. He tries to move a bit further from the table's edge. 

"If I get my fingers slapped by the forensics team for disrupting the crime scene I'll-"

His foot nudges a chair. The scraping is practically deafening to his ears. The man stops. Silence stretches out once again and all he can hear is his own rapid breathing and the rush of blood in his ears. The policeman kneels and peeks under the table. His eyes widen.

"Oh-"

"You still haven't opened the damn windows?" the other policeman calls from the doorway.

"There's a kid, Martin."

"What?"

The man extends a hand towards him. "Hey, kid. Come out of there." His voice is raspy, but kind, somewhat fitting his long face and salt-and-pepper stubble. "We won't hurt you." 

This man is nothing like the Powder Man. He's not large and muscular and angry. He isn't frowning or shouting, his smile is kind, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, not mocking and cruel. 

He wouldn't hurt him, would he?

He crawls out and carefully takes the man's hand. 

"Oh, shit," mumbles the other policeman, walking towards them. From this angle it looks like he's towering over both of them. His sleek black hair and a beak-like nose remind him of a raven. "What's your name, kid?"

"Christian."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pathetic start to a pathetic work. Lifted from the movie with minor alterations. Will be edited later on.

A vicious bout of wheezing cough erupted from the living room, followed by sniffing and groaning. "You alright?" Ana called over her shoulder. Another fit of coughing answered her. She smoothed her hair back before finally deciding to tie it into a tight ponytail, tucking the loose brown strands behind her ears in front of the bathroom mirror. Not enough time to play around with it. She stepped back and shortly scrutinised her outfit of choice. Deciding for buttoning up her white blouse completely she left the bathroom. "Kate?"

"Yeah, I'll live," rasped the other woman from where she was huddled on the small couch surrounded by pillows. Her nose was red and dry from her constant nose-blowing, and she was draped in a thick brown blanket up to her chin with only her blonde head and forearms sticking out.

"God help you if you spilled any of that soup," Ana warned in jest as she searched the various piles of papers and books that littered almost every available surface in their modest apartment . "Where are your car keys?"

"By the microwave."

Ana spun towards it with an _'oh'_ and grabbed the keys, tucking them into her navy blue blazer's singular inner pocket before picking up a stack of things from the coffee table. She checked them quickly - her battered notebook, a folded piece of paper with a blue ballpoint pen holding it, the recor-

"I gave you the recorder, right?" Kate asked, not looking away from the TV screen. "And the questions?"

"Yes."

_"...the Seattle police department has not announced any new leads yet."_

She glanced towards the screen just in time to see the news anchor's face disappear behind a photo of a smiling young woman, both eyes and hair a deep shade of brown. 

"Nothing more interesting to watch than missing person reports?"

The blonde rolled her sunken green eyes, putting another spoonful of chicken soup into her mouth.

"No, unless I want to watch a rerun of the _Kardashians_. You sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes, yes, I'm not a child, I have a GPS and a 4.0 GPA, I'll figure it out." She pressed a quick kiss to the top of Kate's head. "Shut up and eat your soup instead of fussing about me."

* * *

Kate's black Mercedes passed the miles separating Vancouver and Seattle with relative ease. Minutes ticked by and turned into hours as shadows shortened, the sun slowly but surely climbing to its summit. Green plains, lush trees and sprawling expanses of water were soon blocked out by increasingly more common industrial buildings and apartment complexes. Heavy clouds blown over from the ocean loomed and swirled above the city, threatening to spill rain at any moment. Stray rays of sunlight that occasionally pierced the cloud cover reflected off the hundreds of windows in the city's heart and cast it in shades and hues of brown, grey and blue. People wandered the sidewalks, some casting the occasional glance at the sky, others waiting for the green traffic light on the crosswalk. Ana followed her GPS through the linear streets and avenues, gripping the steering wheel perhaps a bit too strongly with a mix of anticipation and nerves.

She took a turn, and an imposing tall office building of curved glass and steel appeared in front of her. Her destination, according to the GPS.

"Wow," she breathed out. She pulled the car into a parking spot in front of it. Sure enough, _Grey House,_ written with elegant steel letters above the entrance. She got out of the car and looked skywards at the numerous floors in wonder, clutching her notebook and recorder with slightly shaking hands. Somewhere up there, in one of the windows, was a millionaire willing to bother himself with an interview. Her stomach dropped, but there was no way out anymore. She had promised this to Kate. After a moment's hesitation and with a deep self-reassuring breath she set off towards it.

* * *

The elevator doors opened to reveal a spacious reception room. The walls and floors were clean white, the only exceptions being the soft brown sandstone tiling on some of the walls and the occasional decorative plant. She walked towards the robust reception desk made out of what looked like several smooth sandstone slabs, with two young sharply dressed blondes behind it. One of them, an obviously younger one in a neat black dress, looked up at her.

"Miss Kavanagh? May I take your coat?"

"Oh- uhm, yes, please." 

"Mr Grey will see you now," announced the second blonde without looking away from the computer screen before Ana could even correct the first  . They both had their hair pulled up in neat tight buns, giving them a strangely intimidating aura.  A third, almost identical one emerged from behind the corner, wearing a smooth grey suit jacket and a matching pencil skirt  . Ana  suddenly  became much more conscious about her own, much less elegant navy blue one.

"This way, please."

Ana smoothed down her blazer and skirt, hoping she looked at least a little presentable. The blonde led her to a large dark double door with smooth horizontal handles made of steel. She gestured towards it.

"Right this way."

"Thank you."

The office behind the door was impressive. Large and bright, with pale sandstone tiling on the walls and white floors. A tall decorative weeping fig tree sitting near a heavy wooden desk threw a bit of life into the room. However, the most impressive part was the window wall, the Seattle skyline stretching out behind it. The view was breathtaking. Standing with his back towards her was a tall man, lean and broad shouldered, his hands on the black railing that stretched from one side of the massive window to the other. She let the door close with a rather loud click.

The man turned around at the sound. "Ah," he began, his voice ringing out in the room. "Miss Kavanagh." He crossed the distance between them in a few steps and extended a large hand to her. He  was dressed  in a charcoal suit and tie - a sharp contrast to his crisp white button up. His face was angular and clean shaven, his rather short brown hair twisting  slightly  at the nape of his neck. She took his hand.

"Anastasia Steele." His intelligent grey eyes narrowed at the  undoubtedly  unfamiliar name. "Miss Kavanagh has fallen sick and asked me to fill in."

"I see. So you're a journalist as well?"

"No, just her friend."

He nodded thoughtfully and gestured towards his desk with a long fingered hand. "As I said, I only have five minutes. Have a seat, Miss Steele.

Ana sat down into the elegant white armchair opposite the desk made out of steel and dark wood.  He sat into the black leather swivel chair behind it and leaned back  casually, resting his ankle over his knee. He watched her open the notebook, set up the audio recorder and prepare her pen in silence. She could see him in her peripheral and attempted to not fumble too  obviously. Clearing her throat she glanced at him with an awkward smile.

"Ready?"

Grey  idly  turned the swivel chair by a few centimetres away and back  slowly, never  fully  facing her with his body. His elbows were on the armrests, fingers intertwined on his abdomen. The sun streaming in through the large window cast half his face into shadows.

"Whenever you are."

She took a steadying breath and turned on the recording. "Alright. Okay.  So, this is an interview for The Seattle Times on the occasion of the upcoming tenth anniversary of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc  ." She checked the first question. "You were very young when you started and managed to amass an empire in  just  a few years. To what do you-"

"-to what do I owe my success?" he interrupted her. Ana shut her mouth with a small nod. The room fell into silence. 

Grey stood up, looking out at the city. "Business is about people. And I've always been good at people. I know what motivates them, what incentivises them, what inspires them."

 _'I know.'_ Ana's eyebrows twitched in distaste at the egoistical statement. "Maybe you're just lucky," she quipped. Grey looked at her and scoffed humorlessly. 

"I've always found that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have." His perfect enunciation slipped momentarily, allowing a slight British drawl to enter his speech. "The key to my success has always been identifying talent in individuals and harnessing their efforts."

"So you're a _control freak_?"

He took a slow step towards her, a small, almost mocking smile on his lips. "Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele." Something in the tone of his voice made Ana's skin crawl. He sat back down in his swivel chair, returning to his previous position. He nodded at her.

"Go on."

Ana remained silent for a second, questioning whether she imagined the almost predatory edge to his look or not. She swallowed and read the second question.

"Do you have any interests outside of work?"

"I enjoy various _physical_ pursuits."

She nodded to herself. Common enough. She read the next question. "You're unmarried." She paused and let out a short exasperated breath at the rest of the sentence. She looked at his face. "Are you gay?"

Grey gave her a patronising tilt of the head, but humour danced on his lips. Early crow's feet appeared in the corners of his eyes in what appeared to be the first genuine smile he gave her. He stood up and walked around the desk, leaning against it in front of her instead. She looked up to meet his eyes.

"No, Anastasia," he replied with amusement in his voice. "I am not gay." 

"I apologise, Mr Grey, these are Miss Kavanagh's questions. She can be a bit-"

"-intrusive?"

"Curious."

He tapped the edge of the desk with his fingers rhythmically, edges of his mouth still slightly upturned. He moved his weight from one leg to the other, sliding down into the armchair next to Ana's without breaking eye contact.

"What about you, hm?" he asked. "Why don't you ask me something _you_ wanna know?"

Ana took a breath to reply, but before she could say anything the door opened. Both looked towards it.

"Apologies, Mr Grey, but your meeting starts in two minutes," announced the woman in the doorway. Ana recognised the blonde that escorted her earlier.

"Cancel it."

Ana frowned in confusion.

"Yes, sir."

"No, no, that's-" Ana began, but the blonde already shut the door closed. Grey's eyes returned to her. "That... that is not needed, it's fine."

He tilted his head to the side in an almost bird-like manner. "Actually, scratch that. I'd like to know more about you."

Ana stared at him. _What?_ He blinked in confusion. "Me?" She huffed out a nervous laugh. " _Why?_ There is not much to know about me."

"You said Miss Kavanagh is a friend. She must trust you a lot, asking a non-journalist to do an interview for her." His voice was quieter than before, rasping over some of the vowels. The sudden lack of an echo made her truly aware of his proximity. She no longer felt like an interviewer, but like an insect under a microscope, dissected by his colourless eyes. Up close she could see the occasional auburn strands that shot through his hair.

"Uhm, we... went to university together," she said, eyes darting around his face to avoid his direct gaze.

"But you didn't study journalism."

"No. English Literature."

"Hm. Tell me, was it Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen or Thomas Hardy to first make you fall in love with it?" She looked up at him, eyes wide. He was leaning back in the armchair, one hand under his jaw, one eyebrow cocked so little she  barely  noticed. Waiting for an answer.

"Hardy."

"I would've guessed Jane Austen. Do you work in the field?"

"No, I'm... still looking."

He nodded slightly. "We offer an excellent internship program. I know it isn't exactly close to what you studied, but the pay is certainly more than, for example, an editor would get."

"I appreciate the offer, but... I don't think I would exactly fit in here." She bit her bottom lip from the inside nervously, then met his eyes. "Look at me."

He smiled. "I am."

* * *

He insisted on escorting her all the way to the elevator in the reception room. The older blonde still tapped away on the computer, only pausing momentarily to greet him and give Ana a polite nod.

"I hope you got everything you needed," he said, leaning around Ana to call the elevator.

"You... only answered a few questions."

The elevator dinged. She glanced at it over her shoulder, then back at the man in front of her. The doors slid open. She gave him a quick stiff smile before stepping into the elevator, turning to face him. Grey stood with his hands behind his back, his piercing eyes focused on her. Observing. She pressed the floor button.

"Anastasia," he rasped in parting.

"Mr Grey."

The elevator doors closed shut.

* * *

She walked out of the building and was greeted by the smell of wet concrete. The clouds swallowed the tops of the tallest skyscrapers as they descended upon the city, letting rain fall with increasing intensity. People trotted towards their cars or inside buildings, others pulled out umbrellas. Ana looked up at the clouds, letting the heavy raindrops dampen her hair and clothes. She pressed the notebook and recorder to her chest to shield it from the water and made her way towards Kate's car.

She set her belongings on the passenger's seat and paused, frowning.

The paper with Kate's questions was missing.

* * *

Grey sat into his swivel chair and turned it towards the Seattle skyline. The pale light filtering through the overcast skies drained the city of its colour almost completely, leaving behind a lifeless monochromatic painting.  Large drops of water tapped at the window, trickling down the glass into  slowly  widening streams  .

He opened the folded paper he had snatched from Anastasia's hand in a moment of distraction. His eyes skimmed the questions.  Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth as he fished his phone out of his suit's inner pocket. 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work? [Consider supporting me on Patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/mmarlowe)


End file.
